


ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤Ventilation: Needing To Breathe﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

by Anonymous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Characters are mentioned but not really in it, Coming Out, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Eating Disorders, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), Hurt/Comfort, Iceland needs a hug, Internalized Homophobia, Just slightly, Minor Hong Kong/Iceland (Hetalia), Nordics, Post-Break Up, Protective Norway (Hetalia), Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He reads Ka Lung’s message over and over and over again: ‘We need to talk.’~~~~Emil's expectations for vacation consisting of being trapped in a secluded, mountain cabin with his family are low, but what he had never expected was Leon ending things via text message on the very first night. Now, staring down a two-week-long stay, Emil must decide if he's truly capable of bottling his emotions up or finally letting his family in.OR:Iceland's crush/boyfriend/best friend (who knows! They never got around to labels) dumps him at the very beginning of an already tough trip- the first of many things that he's hidden from the rest of the Nordic nations.
Relationships: Hong Kong/Iceland (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Prologue, Sorta

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! This is my first ever Hetalia fanfic, so I hope you like it <3  
> Iceland is one of my comfort characters and I really felt like giving him some love...in the form of angst, apparently.  
> This story may contain maintains of some triggering topics, but trigger warnings (TWs) will be placed before any chapter with such topics. Please stay safe!  
> Basically, just an angsty story following Iceland dealing with heartbreak and mental health, while learning to accept his family. Your average, Iceland-centric, hurt/comfort fanfiction :)
> 
> Human Names:  
> Iceland....Emil Steilsson  
> Norway....Lukas Bondevik  
> Denmark...Christensen Densen  
> Finland....Tino Väinämöinen  
> Sweden....Berwald Oxenstierna  
> Hong Kong....Wong Ka Lung

Emil sinks down further into the warm water. Foamy bubbles tickle his face. They smell sweet and, according to the brightly colored bottle, the scent is some odd, made-up combination of cotton candy, watermelon, and strawberry. If the world was perfect- which it’s most definitely not- he’d be using something a bit more _mature,_ a bit more masculine, but this old, bubble bath serum is the best thing he could find in the bathroom cabinet.

He slowly, lazily, turns his head to the side, looking at the bottle, which sits, now practically empty, on the closed lid of the toilet. The cartoonish mascot is grinning at Emil so wickedly, so frustratingly happy, that he has to look away. The serum was left behind after the family’s last visit to the cabin, which had to be at least five years ago. Someone had gifted it to Emil and his former self had tossed it aside, fully intending to just be rid of it, all the while forcing it upon his future self without even realizing it. 

If he was smarter, he would’ve just shoved it into his luggage, despite his anxieties that it would leak and ruin all his belongings, and then thrown it away when he got home, safe from anyone realizing that he’d gotten rid of something they’d given him. Even if it had been a gag gift, even if Emil couldn’t even remember who gave it to him, he still wouldn’t want them to think he hated the bubble bath so much. 

And maybe he doesn’t really hate it _that_ much, because here he is, stewing in a hot bath overflowing with the serum. After five years, it’s a wonder it’s even still usable. He supposes he can’t complain too much because, despite its ugly scent and even uglier mascot, it’s been a blessing. After dinner, he’d just wanted to hide, and taking a long bath was the perfect way to do so. It got him out of the awkward happenings following dinner. 

Distantly, he could hear his older brother washing the dishes. Though the sound is fuzzy, anytime a dish bumps another, sounding off with the sharp clang of glass, he tenses. His hands curl around the ceramic edges of the tub; he’s always hated noises like that. Loud and perturbing. Crashes and clangs. He sinks lower, lower, _lower_ into the water until his head is finally submerged and the already quiet bustle of his family in the living room and kitchen are completely drowned out. 

When he finally comes back up for air, blonde curls sticking to his cheeks, the sounds of the dishes have faded. He can hear Christensen laughing- he can hear them _all_ laughing, but Christensen is always the loudest. Emil smiles softly to himself and for a moment, regrets hurrying off to his bathroom escape, before reminding himself that if he’d stayed out there even a second later, he would’ve been the one doing the dishes, not Lukas. 

Because when Lukas says to do something, you do it. 

Emil rolls his eyes, slouches back against the bathtub, and presses his heels against the far end. His toes, nails painted black to match his fingernails, peak up through the slowly diminishing mountains of bubbles, and he wiggles them. Here, in the steamy bathroom that absolutely reeks of teenage angst and probably expired, kids’ bubble bath serum, Lukas can’t tell him to do _anything_. He smirks at that thought. In fact, nobody can tell him to do anything at all. He’s here, alone, and here alone, he’s Emil. It’s an amusing thought, such a change from his usual, anxiety-ridden inner ramblings, but ends far too soon with the chime of his phone. 

He forces himself to sit up, despite his body screaming at him to stay put, basking in the heat of the relaxing bath. With a damp, bubbly hand, he reaches down towards the bathroom floor. There’s an old, ratty rug beside the tub and on it are his discarded clothes; ripped jeans, fuzzy socks decorated with little sea creatures that are always, _always_ carefully hidden by his boots, a t-shirt for some band he doesn't even know but hopes would make him look cool if someone ‘his age’ saw him wearing it, and his favorite lopapeysa. His phone is nestled on top of the pile of clothes, its lock screen bright with the most recent alert. 

A few Instagram notifications… figures. He’d taken pictures on the trip up, posted them when they first got to the cabin.  
Unread notifications in a group chat… reminding him that he _definitely_ wants to block its notifications. It was blowing up his phone all through dinner.  
And the only recent notification, a text from Ka Lung. Emil smiles as he swipes up, opening the messaging app, but whatever excitement he feels suddenly melts away, just like the bubbles in his bath that are quickly becoming piles of pink goop, hovering on the filmy surface of the water. 

He reads Ka Lung’s message over and over and over again: ‘We need to talk.’


	2. Not Working

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Very brief mentions of marijuana use! Like super brief.
> 
> Thank you for reading :D
> 
> ~~~
> 
> He held his phone above his face, watching as the three little dots, indicating Ka Lung was typing, bounced on his phone screen. It was like a taunt.
> 
> Every second that they bounced was a second that Emil felt like he’d die. Eventually, the pounding of his heart synced up with the typing symbol. _Bam. Bam. **Bam. Bam. Bam.**_ It never skipped a fast, frantic beat. He wanted to believe that he was misreading Ka Lung’s initial message because _honestly_ , ‘We need to talk’ could mean lots of things! Right?! 
> 
> ...Right?

The room is cold when Emil wakes up. That’s the first thing he notices. It’s an awful way to start the day, noticing the chill in the air before all else. He scrunches his face up, tugging his blankets up higher, as he rolls over, trying to find the warmth that will lull him back into sleep. It’s too early to be awake, even though morning sunlight is streaming in through the window. Quite pointless, that sun. If it’s not going to warm his bedroom up, then it might as well go away. With an angry grunt, Emil pulls his pillow over his face. 

He wants to stay in bed all day. Just like last night, he has the overwhelming urge to hide. Here, in his bed, he’s safe from Christensen’s loud voice and his big hands, which always ruffle Emil’s hair and mess it up. He’s safe from Tino’s uncomfortable prying into his private life ( _”Do you have a girlfriend, Emil? How are your studies going, Emil? How’s your boss treating you? Have you been eating enough?”_ ) and safe from Berwald’s long, silent stares. Most of all, he’s safe from bossy, coddling Lukas. 

Emil knows they all mean well. Sometimes he wonders how he’d feel in their position, hundreds of years older than someone. Maybe he’d look down on them too. Probably not though, not when he knows how much it sucks for everyone to treat you like a little kid. 

And today? Today, Emil can’t handle that. 

His night was spent with his face pressed into the mattress to muffle his sobbing (Im Yong Soo once told him he sounds like a dying whale when he cries. That stuck with him.). To further ensure that all nosy older siblings and friends were blind to his misery, Emil had hooked up his Bluetooth speaker, blasting whatever Spotify threw on for him. The music was loud and angry, like a ‘No Trespassing’ sign slapped on his bedroom door, warning everyone away. 

He had heard Lukas give soft goodnight through the door at around 1 a.m., though. 

The doorknob had shifted for a moment, like Lukas was considering coming in, but it had stopped before it even really twisted; somehow, miraculously, Emil had scared Lukas off for the night. He’d be stupid to think that Luka’s concern had died overnight though. Even for moody Emil, blasting music all night and hiding for every hour of the evening was unusual, especially to Christensen, who had been hopeful his _’little buddy’_ would spend time with the family. Apparently, according to Lukas, Christensen missed him.

And just like that, along with his fears of what waits for him outside the sanctuary of his bedroom, the memories of last night come flooding back to him. 

Emil had gotten out of the bath quickly after receiving that text from Ka Lung. He hadn’t even bothered with draining the water, which still sits in the tub, cold and wafting the pungent smell of cotton candy-watermelon-strawberry bubbles to Emil’s bed, which doesn’t do anything nice for his already queasy stomach. It was a panicking moment, water dripping all over the aged floors as he grabbed a towel, covered his small body with it, and all but ran to his bed, falling down onto it. It creaked and groaned at the sudden weight and would continue to do so, all through the night, anytime he moved. He held his phone above his face, watching as the three little dots, indicating Ka Lung was typing, bounced on his phone screen. It was like a taunt. 

Every second that they bounced was a second that Emil felt like he’d die. Eventually, the pounding of his heart synced up with the typing symbol. _Bam. Bam. **Bam. Bam. Bam.**_ It never skipped a fast, frantic beat. He wanted to believe that he was misreading Ka Lung’s initial message because, _honestly_ , ‘We need to talk’ could mean lots of things! Right?! 

...Right? 

That was when the tears started. He felt stupid for even trying to believe that he’d misread it. He’d felt this coming for days. The funny thing about drifting apart from someone you’re close to is that you pick up on the slightest of differences. The repetition in the ‘kind words’ he offered to Emil for comfort, the sudden lack of emoticons in his texts, the being left on delivered for ten, twenty, thirty minutes...None of it was particularly cruel, but none of it was Emil’s Ka Lung. 

Whatever Emil’s Ka Lung even was. 

They weren’t official or anything, but it was silently mutual. It was unspoken. It was flirty, fun, and nice. Regardless of the label they put on it, it made Emil feel warm. That’s why he was fine with being called Ka Lung’s best friend. Even though it would leave something to be desired for most people, to Emil, it said all it needed to. He was Ka Lung’s best and Ka Lung was his best. There would be plenty of time to settle into a different label, whenever they were ready for that. For right now, Emil was content with existing as Ka Lung’s best friend, the one he kissed on the swingset of that dingy park a few blocks away from the stuffy office building where they held world meetings...the one who made the first move years ago, before their friendship even flourished...the one that, when he pulled away, had a blank look on his face, much like Lukas’s go-to, stoic expression. Maybe there was comfort in that. Familiarity that drew Emil in and told him that Ka Lung was safe before he even had reason to believe it. After that fateful kiss, they talked all the time. They hung out. 

They’d drive around together for hours, taking turns showing each other new music, getting food from greasy fast food joints, trading a joint between the two of them. Anytime Emil’s lips wrapped around it to take a drag, he was reminded that Ka Lung’s own lips had been here moments ago. Like an indirect kiss. It only added to the buzz of the weed. They’d pass out giggling together, a mess of legs and arms in the backseat, then spend the night in some parking lot. And when they were too far apart to do that, they FaceTimed. 

Emil learned that Ka Lung knew what it was like, dealing with annoying, older nations. He knew what it was like to feel overlooked. Besides, he could always make Emil laugh and they liked the same music, movies, and video games. 

When Ka Lung’s message finally came through, Emil could finally get a breath of air. Only for a moment though. Quickly, the new text sunk in, and just as fast as the ability to breathe had come, it went. 

‘It’s just not working. I love you. You deserve better. I’m sorry’ 

That was it. 

No explanation, no reason _why_ it’s not working? 

A knot twisted in his throat, threatening to spill out into a sob, as he gripped his phone tightly. His whole arm was tensed. He wanted to throw it across the room, but the risk of breaking it and being unable to fix it, left without entertainment except for his family for two weeks, was enough to stop him. Instead, he just slammed it down onto the mattress, letting it go beneath his palm. His free hand gripped the old quilt of the bed. It smelled like dust. As this was before the stench of the bubble bath serum invaded, the whole room smelled of dust. That was to say, it smelled old. Unlived in. Abandoned for the last five years. 

It was hard for the Nordic nations to get together these days. Everyone had work. Emil saw Lukas often, obviously; his older brother made a habit of checking in on him. As much as he hated to admit it, there were certain things his older brother had to help him with. Hell, Emil couldn’t even buy a drink in his own home! Thinking of such things didn’t do anything to subdue Emil’s frustration and sadness. If anything, it made them worse. The knot in his throat grew. 

He can’t keep a ‘best friend.’ 

In his own home, he can’t drink, smoke, vote, rent a car, live alone without Lukas’s permission. He had to wait to be twenty, maybe eighteen for some, but who knows when that’ll happen? The clock ticks so slowly for nations. Even America and Canada, who gained their independence centuries before Iceland, aren’t legally allowed to do certain things in their homes. 

They don’t wait around for older siblings to allow it though. 

That’s just Emil. 

Pathetic, useless, weak, _not working_ Emil. 

That’s when the tears really began. He plugged his phone into the charger he’d set up earlier, perfectly positioned so that his phone may rest on the wobbly bedside table, beside a lamp with a childish shade, probably something leftover from Emil’s youth. He can’t place it exactly, but it did look familiar. 

He stared at it for a moment. It looked ugly. He wanted to break it.

The lampshade is porcelain, like lamps of the time often were, and it's painted with two children. They’re cuddled together, their eyes wide and doelike as they stare back at Emil. They sit in a grassy meadow, little bunnies around their feet, and have rosy cheeks. They’re holding hands, but they don’t look very happy. Emil wondered if they’re not working too. 

Then, after setting up the protective layer of music, Emil rolled over and spent the night crying. Sometimes, he’d catch the buzz of his phone vibrating on the table as Ka Lung and other friends checked on him, but he didn’t bother answering. He didn’t have anything to say. 

It’s morning now. He has to face the awful reality that for whatever reason, he didn’t die in his sleep or magically poof away to fairytale land or even wake up on yesterday morning, before all this happened, realizing Ka Lung’s text was just a bad dream. No, this was real. He was dumped by his unofficial boyfriend and stranded in a mountain cabin for two weeks with the last people he wanted to spend this time of heartache with. 

This time, when he rolls over and sees that lamp, he picks it up and throws it to the floor, watching it shatter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the support!!! <3

Time slowed down after the lamp hit the ground. That or Emil just started going really, really fast. He became painfully aware of the fact he'd passed out last night, a sobbing, soggy mess, with nothing more than his bath towel tied around his waist. That towel was lost in his bed somewhere. His accidental-nude state and the fact that his family definitely heard the lamp break threw him into a panic as he all but dove over his bed, reaching for his suitcase. He grabbed the first things he could get his hands on and pulled them on without much thought as he rushed to beat his approaching doom. Having people freak out after they hear glass breaking is one thing; having them catch you naked with said broken thing is another. 

He tugs red basketball shorts up once again as they slip down his waist. He knows that they're Ka Lung's but his mind won't let that thought really sink in. They're just his shorts. His shorts in a bright, bold color he'd never pick...a material he'd never buy...a size that doesn't even fit him. _Whatever_. No time to worry about it. An oversized t-shirt he'd found at a second-hand store, tube socks he never actually wears but Lukas keeps buying for him because he insists they're good. That's the outfit today. It's not like he usually spends a ton of time picking out what he wears, but he likes to think he usually looks better than this, especially with the state of his hair and face. He doesn't get a chance to look in the mirror, but if he had, he'd see that his eyes are bloodshot and black streaks run down his pale face, the remains of whatever makeup he'd cried off the night before. 

He throws himself onto his bed, trying to position himself on it as casually as possible as the door opens. Lukas stands there in his pajamas and slippers with Christensen bouncing around behind him. There's a mug of coffee in Lukas's hand and when he sees the lamp on the floor, he brings it to his mouth, takes a long, loud sip, and eventually says, "You broke it." 

"I didn't mean to," is all Emil can say. It's a shitty explanation, but he doesn't know what else he can say. By the state of his room and himself, it's obvious that something wasn't right. There's no use trying to cover that up. "I'll clean it," he says, starting to get off the bed, but Lukas holds up a hand to stop him. 

"Don't," he says. "You'll get cut. Christensen will pick it up." 

Behind him, the much larger man stops jumping around. He frowns. "I will?" 

"You will. I don't want Emil getting hurt." 

"And what about me?" 

"Are you seriously scared of a lamp?" Emil asks, sliding off the bed despite Lukas's wishes. He picks up the largest piece of glass carefully. "It's not a big deal. I'll be fine. It was an ugly lamp anyway." 

Lukas frowns. "We've had that since you were small." 

"So? Doesn't make it any less ugly." 

Christensen chuckles and strides into the room. When he sits on Emil's bed, the mattress squeaks and dips, making Emil cringe; Christensen is massive. Berwald is too. Even though they're smaller, Tino and Lukas are pretty built too- especially Tino. Smaller than Berwald and Christensen as he may be, Emil's positive the Finnish man is actually the strongest of them all. Emil shares the same tall height that they all seem to have, but he's so _scrawny_. It's all delicate, doelike features with him. He takes that moment to look in the mirror, a glance to the side in the mirror plastered on the bureau's door. He frowns. He looks nearly dead. 

It isn't fair that his brother should get to be the perfect mix of graceful and strong, handsome and beautiful, that kind of allure that only Lukas has. Everyone is always going on and on and on about how much Emil looks like his big brother, so it seems unfair that they should resemble each other in all ways except build. That's the only thing Emil cares about. 

He feels Christensen's large hand press down on his hair, ruffling the soft, platinum locks. "You okay there, allerkæreste?" 

"Huh?" Emil's hands shake as he slowly moves the shards of glass into a pile. Was his defense that weak? Could they see something was really wrong? ...How humiliating. "I'm fine." He spares a look up at Lukas, who leans against the doorway, silently sipping his coffee with that unreadable expression. It's always been endearing that Lukas was unemotional, but now, that blank, confusing stare just reminds him of Ka Lung. He drops his head, grits his teeth, goes back to his cleaning. "I'm _fine_ ," he says again. 

"If you say so," Lukas says, unbelievably nonchalant for all his airs of being the 'world's best big brother.' "Breakfast is ready. Come downstairs when you're ready." Emil knew he wasn't offering; he was demanding. 

Christensen gives him a pat on the head before standing. "You better hurry, Icey. I'm so hungry," he says, rubbing his stomach, "I might eat it all before you even get down!" 

"Be my guest, kúkalabbi," Emil mutters. Both of the older countries pause, exchange a look, then stare at him. He didn't mean to say it. It just slipped out. This is why he avoids people when he's upset. He just has no filter. 

"Chill with the attitude," Lukas says. "if you're going to be like that, then-" 

"-It's fine," Christensen quickly says. Emil's vision blurs; Christensen sounds so _sad_. Emil always forgets how sensitive the big oaf is, especially when it comes to him. "Icey's just not feeling well. You come down to breakfast whenever you're ready, alight?" He takes Lukas's arm, leading him away from the bedroom. "And be careful with that glass." 

Emil just nods, listening to their footsteps as they leave the hall and go back downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allerkæreste is Danish for dearest! Kúkalabbi is Iceland for scumbag, more-or-less. These translations might not be 100% accurate but I hope they are LOL


End file.
